


The Apostate

by CascadianRain



Series: So Long to Devotion [9]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: (discussion of), Chantry Boys, F/M, Flowers, Oaths & Vows, Rite of Tranquility, dinner date, more than friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 19:31:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12871470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CascadianRain/pseuds/CascadianRain
Summary: 9:36 Dragon, early autumnSebastian’s self-appointed duty is to keep a smile on Hawke’s face and lend her strength as Kirkwall continues to spiral toward chaos. It’s a duty he doesn’t take lightly.





	The Apostate

How quickly a year slips by.

The anniversary of the Blight came again, but now the dying of summer held a different significance for Sebastian. One year ago, Hawke invited him over for dinner, which quickly became a near-weekly tradition. One evening out of a dozen, they could pretend the world outside of Hawke’s Estate was at peace, and they were no more than close friends hailing from noble houses—not Champion, not Prince in exile.

He hadn’t meant to mark the occasion with anything. The risk of reminding Hawke of other, sadder events of summers past was too great. Sebastian took it upon himself to be the guardian of Hawke’s good humour. If she was smiling and teasing, if she was mocking her enemies instead of glaring, then there was still hope. She was holding together. The city was still at arm’s length.

But a flower seller hawking their wares in the Chantry courtyard was too perfect to ignore. The lavender caught his eye first—a once familiar sight when the hills around Starkhaven erupted in purple. The memory of chasing after his brothers while they laughed, him tripping over the plants that came up to his small shoulders, used to fuel his resentment, but was now held dear.

Also on the cart, among the last of the summer blooms, was a small bundle of pale pink snapdragons that he first mistook for apple blossoms. Sebastian pointed at them and asked, “Isn’t it a wee early for these?” Four months early—or six months late. Either way, they weren’t flowers.

The seller shook her head. “They came back. I usually rip them all out at the end of spring to make room for the summer crop, but I missed these. Felt winter returning and lifted their heads.”

It was an unusual bouquet to be sure. The seller took his money and gave him a ‘if this is really what you want’ look as she wrapped the stems of snapdragons and lavender together. An unlikely pair, but that was Hawke and Sebastian, too, wasn’t it?

He let himself into the Estate, gave Chevalier a scritch behind the ears as the Mabari’s tail thumped the worn carpet before the fire, and made his way toward the kitchens. Hawke would look up from chopping vegetables, her smile lighting up the room when she greeted him.

He began to worry when no wafting aromas led him in, and rather than the heat of the kitchen fire, the house seemed to grow more chill.

Hawke sat at the table, shoulders hunched, an open bottle before her and a half-empty goblet clutched in her hand. She usually wore her hair pulled back in a ponytail, but tonight it hung in a sheet, hiding her face. She didn’t look up.

“Charlie!” Sebastian rushed forward, dropping the bouquet on the table. As he sat beside her, she turned wide, sad eyes on him. “What happened, _mo cridhe_?” He pushed her hair behind her ear. Gray streaked at the temples. The faintest ghost in the orange.

Hawke’s gaze fell away. “Dropped in to see Anders earlier, to check on how he’s doing.”

Sebastian’s hand curled into a fist on the tabletop. That void-blasted abomination.

“He heard about the members of the mage underground that we found a few days ago.” Hawke took a long draught from her goblet. He didn’t blame her. The encounter had been...messy. The rebels had refused to surrender. A few years ago, Hawke might’ve sent them on their way with a warning if there was no sign of blood magic, but the deteriorating situation had forced her to pick a side. Varric’s rumours were enough to keep a newly restored noble safe, but not a Champion in the public eye. Neutrality was no longer an option.

“He didn’t hurt you?” If he had, nothing would keep the abomination safe. Sebastian tolerated his existence out of love for Hawke, but so often he’d thought of sending an unsigned letter to the Templars. A map to the hideout of a known revolutionary.

A humourless laugh hiccupped out of Hawke. “No. He’s not that far gone. Just railed and ranted and turned a little blue. He came back to himself in the end. Told me to leave.”

Sebastian wanted no more than to put his arm around her shoulders, but it would be too intimate. It was a careful dance they led—a touch here and there, but never too close. _Friends, just friends._ The temperature in the kitchen dropped a few degrees and frost inched up the stem of Hawke’s goblet from where her fingers held it. Those fingers that manipulated the world, let her create her reality.

_First things first._ Sebastian was no mage with fire at his beck and call, but he had everything he needed. While Hawke drained her glass, he stacked logs into the fireplace, padded it with tinder, and soon enough had a small fire smoking and spluttering into life.

He sat back on his heels in triumph. “There now. I have some uses.”

“Meredith will send her Templars after me. One slip-up. One excuse. That’s all she needs.” Hawke hugged her housecoat tight around her middle. “She drifts between trust and loathing with the faintest breeze.”

Still kneeling, Sebastian looked up into Hawke’s haunted eyes. “She wouldn’t dare! You’re Champion! The Knight-Captain—”

Another bitter laugh. “Cullen trusts me, yes, but he’s still a Templar. He follows orders.” She threw her head back and drained the glass again. Her knuckles were white, clutched around the stem. But she didn’t refill it. She stared unseeing across the table. “If they ever catch me, if they make me Tranquil—” She jerked around to face him, her blue eyes burning into him. “Please Sebastian, you have to kill me. You’re the only one I trust to do it. Aveline might—but I want it to be you.”

Struck dumb at the horror of it, all Sebastian could do was gaze into those eyes that had never once showed a hint of fear, but were now frantic as they peered down the darkest branch of fate. How could it be that one as strong and _good_ as Charlotte Hawke had to think about this possibility, had to pick among her friends whom she trusted to deliver her from an existence worse than death? Where had the Chantry gone so wrong?

In his mind, he saw Andraste, standing in chains before an unlit pyre, while her army, unable to save her, screamed in despair. Hessarian pointed his sword at his prisoner, a gloating smile on his lips. Below, Shartan screamed his fury and charged forward with a legion of his elves, straight into enough Tevinter arrows to darken the sun. Havard, too, tried to save her and was mortally wounded, forced to watch Andraste be led to her execution.

But it wasn’t Andraste in chains, it was Charlotte, and instead of Hessarian, Meredith.

His false, golden idol. His sign from the Maker. His Hawke in flight. He already knew it a thousand times over: he’d give his life for her. He’d leave Starkhaven to the jackals, let the Vael line end, for this apostate from a Fereldan village surrounded by apple orchards.

Gently but firmly, he pried her fingers from the goblet’s stem and gathered both her hands in his. Meeting her startled eyes, he said, “By the Maker’s Light, by my last breath, I swear that I will never let them have you.”

Tears shimmered in Charlie’s eyes. Her stunned silence didn’t last long, though. With a trembling smile that didn’t quite stick, she said, “Don’t take too many vows. You won’t know which to keep.”

He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. When his gaze returned to her face, her cheeks were pink and a faint light of hope had replaced her fear.

“I will know.”

**Author's Note:**

> VERY excited to post the next one :3 (and that's all I will say)


End file.
